Ace of Hearts

I Can't

ꞜꞜꞜꞜꞜ

Throughout the span of Namjoo's twenty-two years of life there were plenty of things she'd turned a blind eye to. The raggedly homeless man who sat at the bus stop corner on a piece of cardboard. His dark maroon beanie hung low over his scavenging eyes. A silver soup can at his stinky feet, black socks pulled high over his ankles. Gawking at her every day she walked to school and back home. Whom deemed him innocent, Namjoo sensed the eyes on her school uniform skirt. Only she pretended he wasn't there.

The horny teenage boys at school that always hung around the staircase, hoping for a peek up a girl's skirt. Unless they were shooed away by teachers more than half the student female population had been violated. Namjoo included, but she too, had turned a blind eye to the many other victims.

Or when she got older and graduated from puberty. The whistles and catcalls from drunkards heehawing. On late evenings home she used to hunker down, draw in her shoulders to make her form smaller as if that'd help her disappear into the shadows. Yet they noticed her. Ignore them and they'd leave her alone like all the other times, but it always happened.

As an escort Namjoo learned the blind eye trick was not always a smart solution. In a career that required the constant company of a man Namjoo had honed her own tricks. A discreet hand on her thigh and she'd shove a shot of liquor up his mouth. A stare too hard and she'd laugh boisterously to revert the attention. Most of the time, Namjoo learned to handle the situation like an adult. Be straight out with her feelings; tell him off, flick him off, walk away.

But not everyone was a pervert. Not every guy she encountered wanted to inflict harm on her. Learn to read the situation and handle it maturely.

Namjoo had met too many people that sent different alarms ringing over her head. Draw a line with the joker. Stay away from the giggly one. Remain a distance with the flashy man or the expensive suit. Kiss up to the thinning haired client and a bulging wallet.

Everyone was unique.

But this time, Namjoo did not want to face her current situation. With Sehun she was most inclined to return to her old habit. Turn a blind eye.

Pretend.

She hated the quiver in her hands. The tingling sensation that spread from the tips to the back of her hands all the way to her shaky heart.

Namjoo wasn't prepared to handle the gravity of the changing affair between them. Read too much into what was different these days.

The food. The car. The freedom to go in or out of his house. The missing long pillow. The letter Sehun wouldn't let her read. The clothes from the store she'd found sitting in the closet after she'd taken a shower that evening.

Be ignorant. Continue to be herself and hope that came off as unattractive as the beginning when Sehun really disliked her. Because come on.

It didn't make sense for him to be serious about any of this. The marriage was so fake and planned out Namjoo could laugh.

But she wasn't laughing.

She was on edge.

On Sunday morning Namjoo gulped down an entire cup of coffee sleep deprived. She'd been thinking the entire night. How to go back home. Perhaps now she was prepared to break his dear father's heart. Namjoo had written a mental essay asking for forgiveness. Repeated the speech over and over in her mind.

"Why are you up early?" Sehun walked into the kitchen. Noticing the mug in her coffee he grabbed it from her hands. "You shouldn't be drinking any of that. What if someone sees?" then resumed to draining the rest of the coffee from her mug.